


The Worst You Could Do

by evansrogerskitten



Category: Dean Winchester - Fandom, Sam Winchester - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Cruel Pranks, Gen, If you have severe arachnophobia, Panic Attack, Prank War, Yes that's a warning, a creepy crawly, an arachnid - Freeform, cursing, don’t read this.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evansrogerskitten/pseuds/evansrogerskitten
Summary: Some teasing between you and the Winchesters quickly turns into a prank war you are not prepared for.





	The Worst You Could Do

**Author's Note:**

> *screaming* SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW THE MUSE! 
> 
> This is for Genre Bingo: Hiding Something and @super-not-naturall New Girl Celebration, prompt is bold.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Dean growled across the desk.

Yes, the local dumbass coroner had already inceritated the body you wanted to confirm that the recent attack was by a werewolf. And yes, all three of you had valid reasons to be frustrated. But there was no need to go off on the guy. You grabbed Dean’s arm before he swung at him and tugged him towards the station’s sliding glass doors.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked as you walked down the block to the Impala. “He fucked up but no need to break his nose.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean bent down as he noticed what looked like a splash of mud on the side of Baby’s front tire. He unlocked the driver’s side as a group of tweens flew by on their skateboards, wheels a few feet away from the car’s front grill.

“ **Youths!** ” Dean scolded them, taking a few steps towards the kids that were already half a block away. “Getting too close to my Baby!”

“Jeez, grumpy old man.” You and Sam made eye contact over the car. “Why’s he so cranky?” you asked as Dean shoved himself into the car.

Sam just shrugged as he opened the passenger side door and folded his long body into the seat. Dean was in a mood, you were so done with this messy case, and Sam just seemed tired of you both. It was going to be a long day.

Back at the motel you changed out of your Fed suits. You agreed to go grab some food with Sam while Dean stewed on his bed in front of the laptop. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door behind you.

“He’s just in a mood,” Sam reassured you, “he’ll be better once he’s fed and buzzed.”

The food took a little longer than you’d hoped and you were starving by the time you got back. You clutched a dewy case of beer in your arms, Sam right behind you with bags of take out. You stopped short in the door, elbowing Sam when he started to laugh.

Dean was asleep, still sitting up with his back against the headboard and arms folded across his chest. Perched on the bridge of his nose was a pair of dark rimmed reading glasses. He looked up sleepily when he heard the sound of your laughter before a look of alarm flashed across his face, the corrected vision reminding him he was still wearing his new accessory. He scrambled to grab the glasses off his face and shove them under the pillow, as if hiding them now would undo what you’d seen.

“Taking a nap, Grandpa?” Sam snickered as he set the food out on the table. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your much needed rest.”

Dean chuckled, nervously licking his lips as he rushed to think of something to say. “Those are just the holy fire ones. I was just, just testing them out in case we need them.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No hellhounds on a werewolf case, dude. Come eat.”

Dean looked over at you warily, waiting for a snide comment. You grabbed your salad and settled down onto the other bed, flipping on the television without a word. Dean got up and took his food from a smirking Sam, returning to his spot at the top of the bed.

“What’re you watching?” he asked as he took a big bite of fried chicken.

“I’m not sure,” you shrugged, your eyes still on your food, “Matlock may be on. Or Murder She Wrote. Or do you prefer Antiques Roadshow?”

Sam nearly choked on his coffee as he laughed loudly. Dean’s cheeks flushed as he stared down at his food. “Not funny.”

You snickered and went back to your dinner. “Sorry, Pops.”

The room was quiet for a few minutes except for the television and shuffle of paper wrappers.

“You want this?” Sam asked you as he held up a strawberry milkshake.

“I’ll take it,” Dean interrupted, motioning in the air for his brother to hand it over.

Sam looked down at the cup in his hand and grinned before looking up at his brother. “You sure? The elderly are at a higher risk of diabetes and all this sugar might kill you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed the cup. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“Come on, Sam, give him a break,” you added, “after all we should respect our elders. Dean has been around way longer than either of us.”

You snickered at the middle finger you got from Dean in return, a few more sarcastic comments added as you finished your meal before preparing to go find and kill the werewolf.

With the hunt over that night Dean was itching to get back to Kansas. The three of you piled back into the Impala and headed for home. You set up your little cocoon you always made up in the backseat. A plushy pillow for your back, a fluffy blanket across your legs, and once Sam was asleep and Dean zoned out over miles of pavement, your secret Hello Kitty coloring book and twenty dollar markers. Coloring calmed you. It gave you something uncomplicated to focus on, and the cartoon of your youth made you smile which in a dark world of blood and death was welcomed. Once you completed a page you tucked the book into your backpack and fell asleep.

The next day when you stumbled sleepily out of your room and into the Bunker’s kitchen you squeaked in surprise. All of your completed colorful pictures were attached to the front of the fridge. Some _jerks_ had even written your first name, last initial, and the year in the top right corner on each like a kindergartener had done the work. You groaned when you saw the little “A+” marks circled at the top. You started to pull the pages down, dismayed that they’d been found and that this meant your book was ruined. One of the finished Kerropi pages was even torn!

“You know, for how old you are, you’d think you’d do better at staying in the lines.”

You turned and glared at Dean who was leaning in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, gloating as Sam smirking over his shoulder.

“At least I can _see_ the lines, old man,” you retorted, carefully pulling your favorite colored page away from the cold fridge door, glaring when you saw a “B” scrawled at the top. You childishly stomped your foot and whined. “Dude! You ruined my book!”

“Yeah but you’re coloring a book of cartoon characters?” Dean laughed. “Are you five?”

“I’d rather than be five than five hundred like you!” you sputtered. You suddenly realized you were also wearing your lavender pajamas with the little penguins on them and closed your eyes. Assholes. This was going to get much worse before it got better.

“Awww come on, Y/N,” Sam smiled as he stepped into the kitchen and came over to the fridge. He put his arm around you and patted you on the shoulder. “You did very good work. Next time we’ll work on your alphabet.”

“Fuck off, Sam!” you finally laughed, shoving him away. You knew Dean was behind you relishing in your annoyance after your teasing of his age. It wasn’t the coloring book that was bugging you; you’d get another one. It was that they’d made a big deal to embarrass you.

This was war.

You organized the pages into a neat stack before turning to them both. “Alright boys, well maybe I have a childish hobby. But I’m not ashamed of it and you know what,” you stabbed your finger at Dean’s chest, “it’s open season now, Grandpa.”

You, Hello Kitty, and the little penguins left the Winchesters snickering and whispering behind you as you went to your room to plot your vengeance.

*****

The plan for retaliation against Sam came a few days later when you went to the bunker’s trash chute. The incinerator door was jammed open by a bag of beer bottles and newspapers. You groaned, dropping the kitchen trash bag to try and wedge the bags around so you could destroy them.

“Gee, I wonder which asshole decided to shove a bag in and then didn’t bother to lock the door or burn it,” you grumbled. As you shoved the bag into the chute, some blessed force smiled upon you and a small flattened box fell onto the floor.

You started laughing immediately as you picked it up. “Just for Men: Shampoo-in Color” read the box under the face of a grinning male model. “Cover up those grays in no time.” The medium-dark brown color label told you exactly who it had belonged to. You were laughing so hard you had to lean a hand against the machine and catch your breath. Oh hell yes. This was going to be so evil. Sorry not sorry, old man Samuel.

The next morning you offered to go on a supply run, scaring off the boys with, “I need some lady things.” You wandered the aisle at the drugstore until you found your tools of revenge.

It was two days before you heard Sam scream. Dean immediately grabbed his gun and raced down the hallway, hollering his brother’s name as if the apocalypse was upon you for the fifth time. You chuckled and leaned back in your chair in the War Room, drinking a cup of tea and waiting with a small smile.

You’d never heard Dean laugh so hard as he did just then. The bunker was filled the sound of him laughing hysterically and it made you giggle, even though you’d yet to see the product of your conniving work. Moments later Sam stalked out in the library in just track pants, a white towel turban around his head as he headed straight for you, a look of fury reserved for only the deadliest of monsters.

“What the _fuck_ did you do to my hair?” Sam roared until he was three feet away. “You...it’s gray, Y/N. Gray.”

“All of of it?” you gulped. Shit, he was only supposed to touch up his temples.

Sam was seething, glaring down at you as a muscle clenched in his jaw. “You just started something you aren’t ready to finish, little girl. Be fucking ready.”

With that he stormed out, Dean biting his lip to keep from laughing. With Sam gone, Dean stepped down into the War Room and gave you a high five.

“Diabolical, kid. Even I don’t mess with his hair.” Dean returned to his laptop with a chuckle.

You shrugged. “I left another box of the good color in his room. And he’ll forgive me.”

Dean looked up and smirked. “You’re in deep shit. This is going to be so entertaining.”

You smiled as you looked down at your laptop. Y/N: one, Sam: zero. Dean was next.

* * *

But of course, Sam Winchester was not one to let his glorious hair be ruined without a well thought out retaliation. The boys knew you too well and each day you waited, carefully inspecting everything you ate or put on your face. But nothing happened. As days passed Sam seemed to have forgotten, which made your anxiety grow more and more. You’d just started to plan an attack against Dean when it happened.

The case in New Mexico had been especially gross; a shapeshifter kill that had ending up leaving you covered in blood and goo. The boys decided to go a bar for some beers, but you hung back at the motel for a nice bath and some alone time. You didn’t remember falling asleep, nodding off on your stomach with your own soft pillow against your cheek.

You were dreaming about running around a big mansion with your childhood dog. The house was somewhere on the Oregon coast, and your dog seemed as excited as you were that you could hear the surf crash on the beach. There were beautiful flowers growing along the walls before your eyes and your dog seemed to understand exactly what you were telling him. It was a happy, colorful dream and you were annoyed when consciousness tugged at you. You tried to focus on your pet again but something was on you. You could feel it.

You opened your eyes, your hunter instincts quickly pulling you out of your dream as you felt the tiny, fuzzy feet of something slowly crawl across your back. You jumped up and screamed, shaking off whatever it was as it fell to the floor with a thunk.

Sam and Dean burst out of the bathroom laughing as a fucking tarantula ran away in terror across the floor. You looked from the monster bug to the boys and then back down, screaming at the top of your lungs as you backed yourself away and into the corner. You scrambled up on the dinette table on your hands and knees, surely disturbing the neighbors with your high pitched expletives.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you screamed at the boys who were looking more and more remorseful as you quickly fell apart. If you’d been able to cross the room they’d both have black eyes. Fuck that, they’d both be unconscious with punches to the skull. “What the fuck!”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the _thing_ slowly start across the linoleum of the entryway. Seeing it now that you were fully conscious and terrified, well it fucked you up.

“I can’t...I hate…oh god,” and then you were having a panic attack, your fear of spiders reaching its literal nightmare. You swayed as you tried to fold into yourself on top of the table, tears streaming down your face as you hyperventilated. _So dizzy. Gonna faint._

“Oh shit, it’s okay sweetheart,” Dean’s soothed as he hurried across the room to you. He looked back at Sam and nodded at the floor. “Get rid of it.”

You closed your eyes and pressed your face to your knees as Sam leaned towards the floor. “Oh my god did it seriously touch me holy fuck I can’t I hate spiders so much how could you do this this was so mean I can’t breathe holy fuck I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.”

Dean pulled you into his arms, slowly rocking you back and forth as you clung to his jacket. He smelled like whiskey and gunpowder and fried food. You took in a deep breath, keeping your eyes closed. “I cannot believe you did that to me, oh my god.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” Dean said over and over. You flinched in terror when you felt Sam’s hand rest on your upper back, touching you where the monster insect had been. You flung your arms and pushed them both away, almost clocking Sam in the jaw. Sam held his hands up and took a step back but Dean pulled your stubborn flailing arms against his chest and held you until you clung to him, rocking you for a few minutes until you could speak.

“That was so mean,” your chest wheezed, eyes still scrunched closed as you finally relaxed against Dean.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Sam replied, the remorse clear in his voice. “I thought it’d be funny, like just getting you back cuz of my hair.”

“You’re both such assholes.” You smiled a little through your tears, letting out deep breaths against Dean’s chest. “I should cut off all of your hair in your sleep for this.”

You peeked over Dean’s arm and saw Sam smile. “Please don’t.”

“Maybe we should stop this whole prank war thing, huh?” Dean tipped your chin up so you’d look at him. “Call a truce?”

“No way,” you shook your head, opening your eyes as your breathing returned to normal. “We didn’t prank you yet. And for this, I should do my worst.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, let’s see. You fucked with Sam’s hair, which is a major no-no. We...did this to you, which was totally uncool...” Dean paused as he looked over at his brother and then to you, his eyes narrowing. “But I will actually kill you both if you _ever_ fuck with Baby.”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your nose as you sniffled. “Even I know that’s crossing the line.”

“You okay?” Sam asked.

You shook your head, your eyes panicked as you scanned the motel floor. “I cannot stay here. Not with that thing in here.”

“It’s outside, I promise. I took it outside.” Sam reached out and hugged you. “I’m so sorry it upset you so much, I really am.”

“I hate spiders,” you whispered into his plaid. You didn’t want to know how the two idiots had captured the thing. “Give me a wendigo, a vamp, whatever. That was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Really?” Dean chuckled as he grabbed his duffle and started packing. “What about when that poltergeist in Omaha that had you pinned upside down?” You knew he was trying to distract you, but the whole incident was still absolutely disgusting.

“It didn’t have little creepy legs all over me,” you replied, a shiver running down your limbs when you remembered the thing’s touch. You eyed your duffle with your clothes and boots. Dumbasses, you were going to get all you could out of their guilt. “Sam, can you bring me my bag? And my water bottle? Stuff from the bathroom too please.”

You were packed and out of that horrible room in fifteen minutes, clutching onto Dean as he gave you a piggyback out so you didn’t have to walk across the “spider floor” as you called it. You sighed when you were safe in the Impala, even though you made the boys look through every nook and cranny in the car to make sure nothing creepy crawly was along for the ride.

“Wanna stop for anything?” Dean asked over his shoulder as he started the Impala.

“Large coffee and a grilled chicken wrap please. Oh, and I need another pillow, this one isn’t soft enough.” You smiled. “And you owe me a new coloring book.”

Sam chuckled. “Done.”

“Scooby or Spongebob?” Dean snickered as he drove the car out of the parking lot. He groaned when your hairbrush hit him in the back of the head. “Ow! Okay, okay, truce.”

You mostly colored in the lines the rest of the way back home, the old men Winchester never making fun of your craft time again. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N/2: I’m sorry for messing with Sam’s hair. I know, cardinal sin. And the spider monster. Gross. But the muse did it! But we all got Reader back with the worst possible prank I can imagine, so go in peace I love you thanks for reading don’t hate me!  
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________  
> Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is property of evansrogerskitten. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post.


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